


Target Practice

by Kingangelosi



Category: Grand Theft Auto Series (Video Games), Grand Theft Auto V
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-18
Updated: 2020-08-18
Packaged: 2021-03-06 03:53:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25977007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kingangelosi/pseuds/Kingangelosi
Summary: A short Trevor/Ron fic where Trevor trained Ron on how to shoot. Please excuse my writing and hope you can enjoy the plot as much as I do.
Relationships: Ron Jakowski & Trevor Philips, Trevor Philips/Ron Jakowski
Kudos: 9





	Target Practice

Ron was practicing his shooting in Trevor backyard when Trevor returned from Oscar’s Airfield. Absorbed in his task, Ron barely noticed his presence so Trevor just stood there and observed quietly from a distance. Maintaining this silence became more and more challenging as he watched. Why is he wagging so much? What is this, a ballroom? The fuck is he doing slapping around an unlocked loaded gun, he should really count himself lucky that both of his balls are still hanging in place. It became too much to bear for Trevor after exactly half minute. He sneaked up on Ron and grabbed his wrist from behind, correcting his posture to borderline acceptable. Ron squealed a bit out of fright, shivering uncontrollably next to Trevor’s chest. Trevor ignored Ron’s usual panic and held his wrist firmly to steady the pistol. He leaned forward slightly to rest his chin on Ron’s collarbone, adjusting to a more comfortable angle, affably encouraging his loyal yet completely useless employee in his most ebullient tone.

“You know, Ronald, it’s about time I teach you how to shoot.”

“Th...Thanks? Trevor......I didn’t hear you back there......You started me.”

“Ah, don’t be nervous, Nervous Ron. It will be FUN! It’s not like I’m gonna put a bullet in ya head if you don’t put a bullet in that bottle. Now shut up. Just breathe relax and pull the trigger when I give you the order.”

Ron swallowed hard, Trevor’s hot puffs of breath against his neck and Trevor’s boney jawline in his shoulder. He can feel Trevor’s strong grip and his unique smell of gasoline and trash. Ron didn’t hate it at all, he took a deep breathe and tried his best to concentrate, but his head was a bit dizzy now. He wasn’t sure if it was the burning desert sun, or the moonshine he shoveled down his throat several hours ago, or even the radiation from aliens’ aircrafts and the surveillant drones from secret government agencies, it’s gotta be the last one. His fingers were now trembling, slipping in sweat. Frightened by the consequences of letting Trevor down, he shook even more. Oh boy. He couldn’t even gather himself to pull the trigger when Trevor ordered.   
With a disgruntled growl, Trevor pressed on Ron’s index finger, pulling the trigger for him. For the first time ever, the bottle shattered at Ron’s gunpoint. Ron was too agitated to rejoice at this milestone, frozen in complete stiffness even though Trevor has already moved away from his back.

“Now it’s your turn, Nervous Ron. Time to make daddy proud. Nah forget it. Just careful not to shoot your own leg, alright?” Trevor tapped on Ron’s quivering shoulder in attempt to comfort him, which only made Ron even more nervous. He backed up a few steps to leave Ron more room, suspecting that Ron’s heart ain’t in this at all. He devoted all this time and patience to something and someone he doesn’t even care for, not even a whit. That ungrateful little brat!   
With his last drop of patience dangling on the line and Ron consistently stretching it with his unbearably clumsy parody of an imitation, his aim that is all over the place, all those tremors as if he’s just out of a bar or off a fucking ICU bed, Trevor finally lost his temper when Ron emptied the entire magazine and none of the bullets landed anywhere close to the remaining bottle. He grabbed Ron by the collar, smashed his pistol to the ground and growled endless waves of tirade to Ron’s dumb face.  
“The FUCK is wrong with you, huh? I wasted an entire hour on you and this is how you fucking repay me? YOU MORON! Oh my god Ron you are SO FUCKING PATHETIC. Next time I spend time on you it will be on your FUCKING funeral you pathetic pitiful wretched excuse of a man! FUCK!”

“I’m sorry, T, you are absolutely right! I’m awful. I’m such a worthless loser. I’m the worst excuse......I’m so sorry, boss......” Appeasing Trevor is more of a conditioned reflex rather than conscious action at this point. Ron hadn’t completely snapped out of his woozy state yet, he wasn’t even attempting to protect himself from Trevor’s fury or wave his limbs around in fear as usual. Trevor gritted his teeth, shoved Ron to the ground and landed his fist on metal plank of the trailer instead of on Ron’s face. He stormed out of the yard after leaving behind the words “I’m out” and a still dazed Ron on the ground.

Ron sat there in chagrin, crawled and dragged his bad knee to his gun to pick it up. He gently rubbed his fingers on his neck and shoulder where Trevor‘s face was against just a moment ago, ruminating on the rugged touch and the burning feel from both his neck and stomach. 

He should have placed more target bottles. So that Trevor would help him a little bit longer with his aims. Ron thought.


End file.
